


Distractive Tendencies

by dotfic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Reality, Future Fic, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-20
Updated: 2010-07-20
Packaged: 2017-10-14 13:34:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dotfic/pseuds/dotfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's incredibly difficult to keep doing the dishes under these conditions, but Castiel does his best.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Distractive Tendencies

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: Written for blindfold_spn for the prompt _some complete happytime curtain fic. Castiel is washing the dishes. Lots of soapy suds, his sleeves rolled up to the elbow, a radio playing nearby. Dean comes up behind him and tells him to carry on while he reaches around to open his pants and jack him off with some help from that soapy water._

It's been five years since Castiel left heaven, and three since he's been sharing this apartment with Dean, with Sam in the unit on the first floor. This is quite convenient, as the Winchesters continue to throw themselves into the hunt on a regular basis, dragging Castiel along with him. He's not nearly as reluctant as he pretends to be. He understands now why Dean does it even when the entire world is not in danger, though he grumbles about being awakened in the middle of the night. Castiel never needed sleep before, but he does now, even with the boon God granted him, allowing him to keep a touch of his grace. He sleeps, pisses, brushes his teeth, sweats, and still knows the rush of flight.

He likes the human things, figuring out the simple intricacy of the mechanisms of a shotgun, or the slide of hot water over his hands as he washes dishes, Dean's kind of music on the radio. The soap has astonishing patterns of its own, colors in the bubbles, causing him to still his fingers, to stop and stare. His shirtsleeves are rolled up, the hairs on the back of his arms damp, his skin shiny with soap.

Castiel senses Dean's warmth at his back before he hears him or feels his breath on the back of his neck. "Yes, Dean?" He says, slowly moving the sponge over the plate, the bright red traces of tomato sauce washing away.

"Don't mind me," Dean says. "Keep doing what you're doing." One arm goes around Castiel's waist, palm against his stomach over his shirt, making Castiel jerk involuntarily at the touch (he never used to be so easily startled).

He reaches for a glass, while Dean presses his chest against Castiel's back. Dean puts his mouth against Castiel's neck, in the curve above his shoulder, tongue sliding over his skin.

"What you're doing is distracting," Castiel says, rinsing the glass.

"Huh. Is it?" Dean's other hand has gone to work now, fingers brushing over Castiel's erection that now presses against his slacks. Dean pushes with his palm and Castiel sucks in a breath.

"Yes, it is." Castiel keeps his voice level, but has to work at it. It's a game they play, the two of them -- Dean knows he can unravel him all too easily, and Castiel likes being unraveled but he's not sure he wants Dean to know just how much.

Alternating his lips with small nips with his teeth along Castiel's neck, Dean tugs his shirt free, sliding his hand up against Castiel's stomach and his chest. The fingers of Dean's other hand undo the clasp of Castiel's slacks, then pull down the zipper.

It's incredibly difficult to keep doing the dishes under these conditions, but Castiel does his best, reaching for more dish soap as the radio station switches from Clapton to Zeppelin. Dean strokes his cock through his boxers and then pulls down Castiel's slacks.

Now he feels a bit ridiculous, pants somewhere around his knees, pretending it matters that he wash all the forks. Dean is hard against the back of his thigh, the scratch of denim against Castiel's skin through the thin fabric of his boxers. Dean's hand pushes harder, movements quickening and Castiel drops the forks with a clatter. He lets them go, choking back a moan.

"C'mon, Cas," Dean whispers, breath tickling his ear. "You can do better than that. I want to _hear_ you." Both of his hands move to Castiel's hips, thumbs and fingers digging into his skin a moment as Dean presses hard against him. Then Dean pulls at the elastic waistband of his boxers, slides them down, and there's cool air against his cock, Dean's warmth at his back. "Going to make you come so hard," Dean says. His tongue dips into the swirl of his ear, before he turns Castiel's face and kisses him.

Castiel opens his mouth, pushes his tongue in, wanting this, wanting to taste Dean, while Dean's thumb traces over the head of his cock, smearing the pre-come, fingers curling around. Then he grips him fully, starts in with slow, firm strokes. The water's still running in the sink but Castiel suddenly can't remember how to turn it off or how to clean the frying pan. The music's become a distant thread of noise under the sound of Dean's quickening breaths and his own.

Dean stops the stroking, and Castiel lets out a sharp, desperate noise he's embarrassed to make.

"That's more like it," Dean says, and Castiel turns his head to see his grin. His fingers twine with Castiel's, soap-slick and still warm from the water, and then Dean moves his hand back down to Castiel's erection, skin slick with soap bubbles.

With a sense of helplessness, Castiel thrusts into his touch, fucking into his hand. He reaches up to grip the back of Dean's head, needing to steady himself.

"That's it," Dean murmurs, when Castiel lets out a truly shameful low, strangled groan.

He can't help it, the noises that get out of him, and he can't help saying it over and over, _Dean_. He comes so hard that it's almost as blazing white as his grace, everything gone but Dean's hands on him and Dean's heat and the sound of running water blurring with the rushing noise in his own head, and it's better than flying.


End file.
